Punish Yourself and Turn Sex Into Work, Schedule it

As I sit here trying to come up with a compelling first post I am being fully annoyed by a text alert that won’t stop beeping, a frickin’ fly that won’t leave my greasy hair alone (that’s a lie, I’m bald) and a crappy laptop keyboard that won’t let me type an “A”.  Have you ever tried to type without
the letter “A”?  It’s maddening.  And, from what I have been told so far by peers and parents, trivial things like this will be the least of my concerns in six and a half to seven months.  It’s all coming to a close as my wife is pregnant with our first.

Unlike our parents, and more like the current baby-making generation, we have waited to unleash our DNA on the world.  It didn’t really start as a conscience decision to wait on the family after getting married; it was more a bi-product of our lifestyle.  We are both in a constant state of social beast mode.  We love to meet for drinks with friends, we love to travel, we love to ride, and we love doing anything that doesn’t involve a more traditional lifestyle of say…housework.  Or being quiet at 2 in the morning on a Thursday.  Or not yelling at neighbors to shut up.  Many friends have wondered, aloud, how that kind of life wouldn’t actually lead to a child.  I have too; but it just never did.  Evidently even amid all of our irresponsibility, we managed to be responsible with the BC.  Go figure.

We, meaning I, realized the years were advancing and still no baby.  I have always wanted a family and never hid the fact, but at that point of clarity it became a need.  I needed to get things moving because time, not that it was ever really on my side, was turning against me.  So like any fun loving couple would do we made the decision to turn sex from a fun expression of love, passion and desire into work.  Setting times according to someone’s cycle and actually trying to procreate is exhausting and it can make even the most virile of studs come up with an excuse to not have sex.  I don’t know how these two did it. We managed though, we got it done.

When my wife finally let me in on the secret I was stoked!  Where’s my phone?  I have to text!  I wanted to tell all of my closest Facebook friends the news.  Blast it through the webbernets!  Who cares?!?!  I’m excited baby!  She calmed me down with a few light slams and we waited the suggested 90 days.  I think.  90?  Does that sound right?

Once I was finally allowed to spill, I told my dad and step mom first.  They made a 3 hour drive on a Thursday from Orion, IL to “watch the Bears” with us.  They both suspected and were right and also very excited for us.  The rest of that night was filled with parental advice and the usual questions about hospitals and finding out.  Mom, sister and step dad were next.  We got a Price is Right reaction from my sister.  When we were able to tell her folks the news her ever stoic mom didn’t flinch.  She stared, asked “really?” and used the cover of her friends screeching to take a step back into the corner and wipe away two tears in a ninja like fashion.  My wife’s father just huffed “It’s about time.”  It’s comforting when people behave in the manner you have grown accustomed, and those two grouchy Serbs are never loose with the emotions.  They are cream puffs, but stone faced to the end.

Daddy Diaper Danger is going to help me cope with the months and years ahead.  After marrying my wife I started a blog about Serbian people and their culture (www.promajaneck.wordpress.com)  as a vehicle to do the same thing, and it worked.  Unfortunately the Serbs aren’t as hilarious as I once found them; there is a familiarity with them now.  The occasional moment will still arise but it’s time for all new jazz.  Now I still look at the world as a man-child, with a juvenile sense of humor that should have been flushed out years ago, but it’s not.  I am looking forward to the challenges of being a new father and how this experience will change my attitudes and outlook on the world.

 

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    Aaron DeDobbelaere

    Elevating the fatherhood game is what I am doing, daily. Whining, complaining and cursing about kids you will not find here. Parenting is a refined art that so few do to a high level and I have set the bar high. High class, high society, high brow, all the time.

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